hello, my name is Penn- my birthday is Jan 13th, my favorite color is purple, and my favorite animal is the Bearded Vulture!
Here's a list of my f/os and their respective tags to avoid confusion
(This is subject to change as I add or remove f/os)
THIS BLOG MAY CONTAIN ADULT CONTENT, AS THE ONE RUNNING IT IS AN ADULT; ALL POSTS WILL BE TAGGED AS SUCH IF YOU WISH TO AVOID IT. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
oh to lounge on diluc's couch as he messages my back and tells me that i'm doing a great job and he's so proud of me. and he's so attentive and adoring. maybe sickingly so but he loves hard and desperate and hot and passionate, much like the fire inside of him. after all, he denied himself such things for so long.
content: nsfw but not explicit/descriptive writing (lots of talk of dynamics and preferences i think diluc would have for intimacy), vanilla diluc and reader at first, ur married, dom/sub dynamics, soft dom/service top diluc, talk of kids at the end, bratty reader, hint of breeding kink at the end as well if you squint and if you want to interpret it that way. diluc is really just an upstanding gentleman i love him very much and want to marry a man like him someday
diluc is one character i feel strongly to be a taker of zero risks with intimacy—neither would he enjoy such risks if he were to partake. to him, the act of sex is reverent, the purest display of love between him and his partner. never should that act be tainted by fear of discovery, discomfort, or shame.
diluc would want his lover to feel completely safe and secure during such vulnerable moments. i think he’s generally very “vanilla”, and that’s not a bad thing at all. he just enjoys making you feel loved in the most intimate way, and to him, that way is in the setting of a bedroom, lights dimmed, without the company of any other save for his beloved. his favorite position is missionary, of course it is—he can see you, see your face, kiss you silly, all while protecting you from the world. he’s the perfect husband for a pillow princess, truly—just lay down and let him do all the work, sweetheart. he’d be happy to indulge in anything new you suggest, but i feel that a relationship with diluc is steady, conservative, and gently paced, as he is so very much a gentleman. should you desire to explore more, he would never stop you, but his own desires tend to remain consistent. if you are content, he is content.
diluc’s honor and gentlemanly nature will always take precedence over any sexual desire he may harbor for you, however much he may feel. he is simply an honorable man. therefore i feel strongly that he cannot even will himself to think of doing anything promiscuous with you in any sort of public setting, no matter how hidden it may be, and no matter how much he may want you, or how much you want him. it’s not comfortable, and it’s not appropriate—it’s just not his jam. i think that is probably his only hard ‘no’ when it comes to things you may ask for. he will take you home swiftly if he is able, or you will both simply endure the yearning until night falls.
i think the furthest he’d stray into kinky territory is dom/sub dynamics (this is surprising to no one). really anything where he gets to be the protector, the guiding hand, the gentle touch with a firm grip—he’s the definition of a soft dom. his demeanor is too gentle, his heart too bleedy, his soul too pure, to do anything other than love you sweetly unless you should explicitly ask for something else.
for example, if you ask him to be meaner, rougher, or crueler, i honestly think he’d be quite perplexed, and it would take him some time to adjust to the idea. that’s definitely not something to spring on him in the moment. it goes against his nature, to be honest, because he could never imagine bringing harm or even risk of harm to someone he loves so much, whether that harm be physical, mental, or emotional. diluc would have to mull over it for a while before he’s able to approach you and say he’s ready if that’s something you would enjoy, because if it’s for you, he’d try anything. once it happens and he gets into it, oh i think he’d be into it—it’s just not something he ever would have known he’d like unless you bring it up, because he is naturally selfless in love.
the diluc soft dom to hard(er) dom pipeline is crazy cause when he gets the okay from you to be firmer, he naturally takes on that role as if it was made for him, and he remains a service top through everything. his pleasure comes second to yours, and that’s how he has always operated (which also makes for very interesting flip dynamics whenever he gets desperate👁️). if you ask for him to be firm, if you tell him you want him to be in control, that you want to submit to him, that you want him to be strong, to guide you, to take what he wants?
he’s putty.
he’d ask you several times if you’re sure. if that’s really what you want. when you say yes, it is, i’m telling you that it is—he’s still rather nervous at first. at first he wonders if he even knows what he wants, because he’s always so focused on what you want.
but truly, what he wants is just to love you in a way that is safe and comfortable for the both of you. if you are pleasured, he is pleasured. that’s honestly the baseline for anything he ever does.
perhaps, though, just once, he can focus on his own pleasure a bit more. you’ve given him the explicit go-ahead, many times, and even asked for him to be rougher, after all.
so he becomes more truly dominant, giving you more directions, and asking for more from you. he even takes, sometimes, and he has never taken anything before. it makes you feel very giddy.
his new firmness opens up the opportunity for you to explore being bratty. you’ve found yourself becoming increasingly playful, while he remains rather stoic and hard-assed as he learns to deal with you, and you love it—you know he does, too, because he has told you. taming you is a nice fun precursor to the intimate and very romantic missionary sex that you two will have.
and if you’ve talked about kids in your marriage before, this is the point where a hidden desire will finally emerge in him.
he really wants kids. more than he let you realize before. and he really wants to get you pregnant. like whenever you’re ready, he is rearing to go. as soon as you give him consent, he is more needy and wanton than you’ve ever seen before. he takes more, manhandles you, and loves you firmly, and it’s literaly awesome sauce : 3
sorry lost my energy to write more and forgot how to be serious : 3 just got inflicted with the diluc brainrot for a solid 45 minutes and got the urge to write about it bc i for some reason was thinking about people having public-ish/risky sex and how i would never be comfortable with that personally for multiple reasons . and then i thought about diluc and i was like oh my glorious king he’s like a mr darcy dreamboat i swear ugh anyways
You could barely hide the sexual thoughts you've been having about the dad of the kid you babysit and tutor, he's so hot you basically melt in his presence.
When Diluc has to do work in his study or occasionally leave to work or bartend, he asks you to come over and help out his adopted daughter Diona. You're not too sure why Diluc chose you to babysit Diona when he has so many workers but you're not complaining about the huge paychecks you get. Maybe its because you get along with Diona while she looks at the other adults with disdain, likely because you don't drink alcohol.
You usually come early in the morning to make Diona's favorite breakfast meal, watch cartoons, get her school supplies in order, and bring her to school.
After adopting Diona he retired from doing any sort of fighting. He still works out every now and then but he's more relaxed and focused on his kid and his business. His body is less toned and defined but by gods is it still attractive. Hell, even more attractive than before.
You like coming extra early on 'accident' so you can see Diluc in just a pair of boxers. His messy and unbrushed hair along with the faded scars on his body from what he used to do in the past, thick and soft thighs with the perfect amount of hair on them. Not to mention his plump ass that practically begs to be grabbed.
He shaves every other Sunday or before a meeting so you get about 13 or so chances to see his light stubble or his well grown beard. Not to mention his happy trail, let's just say the carpet matches the drapes. The sight is too good to miss out on.
He fits the description of 'Dad Bod' to a T.
The close relationship you have with Diona allows you to get closer to him. Although you've known each other for years, you lost touch after you moved to Sumeru for your education.
Diluc walks out of his study, catching you right as you close the door. "Hold on, do you mind giving me a ride? I have to go into the office today."
You smile. "No problem, Dee."
His cheeks turn a light red.
──────────────────
You offered to go up to Diluc's office to help him with all the things he was carrying, and just as you're about to bid him adieu, he speaks up.
"Do you have any free time?"
His gaze is abnormally seductive, you can't ignore it even if you try.
"Yeah.." You reply softly.
He pulls out his chair and gestures for you to sit. You do as he asked and he quickly climbs onto your lap. "I'm not the only one who's interested, right?" He asks, a little nervous now that he's taken the initiative.
You shake your head. "Dee, you don't even wanna know what I've been thinking about you these days."
"Tell me." He grinds down on you, unbuttoning his shirt.
You lean into his ear. "I've been imagining fucking you against the kitchen counter and you'd be crying and begging for more, like a slut."
Diluc moans, rutting against you even harder. "What else?" He pulls his shirt off.
"Sometimes I'd hope to catch you masturbating to me, and I'd come in right as you squirt all over your sheets. Fuck, I'd love to see that."
Diluc's cheeks burn. He takes your hand and brings it to his crotch. "I..I always have extra clothes, in case something spills...you might fit them.."
You chuckle and help him get his pants off then his boxers. You pick him up, your strength surprising to the older man, and sit him down on the desk. You spread his legs apart and smile. "Gods, you're practically soaked." You pepper kisses along his thick thighs, occasionally biting them before moving to spread open his wet cunt and licking up a stripe to taste him.
Diluc bites his lip, trying to keep his eyes on you but ultimately failing when your mouth latches onto his t-dick and your fingers start to enter him. "Fuck~" He rolls his head back. "Yes- yes-"
He ruts his hips against you. "Oh Gods-" He gasps. "Like that-"
You keep going, pushing three fingers in and out of him and feel him squeezing them. He's close. If that wasn't enough evidence, his repeated 'yes's should be satisfactory.
"Gonna come- 'm gonna come-" Diluc cries out, not caring about any of his coworkers hearing him. His legs shake and his toes curl as he squirts into your mouth. He takes time to catch his breath, looking down at you as you slurp up whatever didn't land in your mouth.
"You were pretty loud, Dee, do you want people to see this?" You chuckle.
"I don't care..I just want you to fuck me, please."
You smirk. "Whatever you want my prince." You pull your pants down, taking your length out and pumping it slowly.
Diluc stares at your length, feeling incredibly needy for you.
"Do you have a condom?" You ask. You had a pack in your bag but it's in the car.
"No- don't use a condom." Diluc moves your hand out of the way, sitting on your lap and avoiding your length. "I...I want it raw."
Your face heats up. "Is that okay? What if you..."
Diluc blushes. "If it's yours..." He looks to the side and purses his lips.
"Shit. You want my kids?" You ask breathless. "Gods, Dee." You look at him lovingly, lifting him up and sinking him down onto your length.
He looks down at his stomach, a faint bump forming. "Fuck.." He moans.
"Can't wait til I get you pregnant.."
Diluc squeezes your length and moans again. He holds onto your shoulders as he starts to bounce on your cock, his fat ass jiggling with each bounce.
You wrap your hands into his hair, pulling him back by his ponytail and earning a breathy and slutty moan from him. You litter hickeys and bites along his neck, marking him as yours.
Diluc loses his momentum as he feels himself already getting close. You let go of his hair and dig your nails into his soft, plush waist, roughly slamming him up and down. "Gonna look so pretty when I stuff you full of my cum."
"Yes~!" Diluc exclaims. "Please- please-!"
Anyone who passes by the room can hear faint slapping noises along with the wanton moans of their boss, their perception of him changing forever.
"Close- Daddy~ 'M gonna co- come~!"
You groan, your grip getting tighter. "Come for me, sweetheart, come on Daddy's cock."
He arches his back and squirts on your length, walls spasming around you almost aggressively. You slow down and pick him up, laying him down onto the desk, resuming your previous pace and chasing your orgasm.
Diluc's moans seem to get louder as you ram into his sensitive cunt, mostly begging for more and exclaiming 'Daddy' over and over.
You bury your head in his shoulder, biting down on him as you slam into him a few more times before coming inside him, spilling your long awaited seed inside his needy pussy. Diluc whimpers at the warm feeling.
You pick him up and start walking to the back of the room, keeping him inside you and making him cling to you like a koala. You open up the curtains to reveal large windows. "You know...if you don't care, you don't mind doing it up against the window, right?" You smirk.
Diluc shivers and shakes his head. "Let's do it." He says breathily. The floor is high up enough that there's barely any worry of getting seen, it's exhilarating for Diluc nonetheless.
You hold his waist, bringing him into a heated kiss. Diluc moans into your mouth as you kiss him deeper. You resume your fast paced thrusts, knocking the air out of his lungs with each one.
You pull away to let him breathe better.
"Cho- choke me~!" He exclaims. "Please~!"
Your hand moves up to his neck, lightly wrapping around it before squeezing. "You like being choked, baby?"
He nods. "Yesh~!" His eyes roll to the back of his head. He's already starting to feel overstimulated but he has no intention of stopping.
The windows are thankfully strong enough to withstand your rough and vigorous thrusts.
You turn him around, squishing his naked chest against the cold glass. "Maybe Barbatos will glide by and see you getting fucked." You tease, nails dug into his waist, his ass flush against your lower body as you ram into him. Diluc moans wantonly, crying out in pleasure.
"You're squeezing me so fucking tight, d'you want that? To be caught?" You pull his hair back. "I never thought you'd be such a whore."
Diluc comes with a jolt, legs shaking violently as he squirts on the previously clean window. He lets out a stupid and dreamy giggle, thinking about the mess he just made.
You fuck him harder, tears of pleasure running down Diluc's cheeks. He feels your cock pulsing inside him, a clear indication that you're about to come.
A string of incomprehensible babbles leaves his mouth, all you can understand is how needy he is. It sounds like he's begging for something.
"Speak properly you dumb slut." You chuckle, letting go of his waist and spanking him.
Diluc whimpers. "Co- come- come-" He manages to say. "Inside~! Inside me~!"
"That's a good boy." Your thrusts slow down, your hips snapping against his ass for the last times as you come inside him.
Diluc lets out another goofy giggle, a matching smile to go with it.
You pick him up and bring him to his desk, turning him onto his back and sighing.
You have no idea how you're going to clean him up and avoid all the employees, even though word has probably spread throughout the building.
a/n: i combined these two, i hope y’all don’t mind
cw: sub!diluc, dom!reader, transmasc!diluc/ftm!diluc, amab!reader, cunnilingus, breeding | use of female anatomy terminology
Diluc watches.
He stands there behind the counter, watching you as you laugh with another. He watches how you place your lips on the wine glass, the alcohol evident in your expressions.
The glass in his hands is near to shattering with how stressful he’d been holding it.
He then stops himself, remembering that this is his choice to begin with.
To the people of Monstadt, he’s never been with another. Diluc is seen as a lone wolf, someone that can never be locked down. One, who prioritizes his business rather than romantic relations.
He knows the wall that he’s built around him, the kind of expectations that people expect of being the Ragnvindr heir… and that’s exactly why he chooses to keep your relationship with him a secret.
He will never let you suffocate with that burden.
“Are you tired? We can just eat in if you want.” You ask Diluc, sitting on one of the stools in front of him.
He doesn’t answer, his mind seeming to be somewhere else.
“Diluc.” You call out.
He continues fixing the bottles on the shelves, not responding to your words.
You’re not new to this side of him, the way Diluc copes with his problems by shutting everything out. It does, however, result in him being unaware of his surroundings whenever he focuses on them too much.
You sigh. “Love?”
That’s when he finally turns around, worried that someone else might see you two. Once he realizes that there’s no one else in the tavern, he relaxes, calling out your name and bringing the back of your hand to his lips.
“Are you alright?” You question him, even knowing the fact that he won’t share his feelings with you, preferring to keep them to himself.
“I’m fine.” Is what he says, despite his right eye obviously twitching when he says it.
“Is it work?”
…
“The Knights?”
…
“Is it that guy from earlier?”
Diluc stops his slow pacing behind the counter, about to reject your accusations until he realizes that he’s accidentally revealed it himself with his actions.
”It’s not…” Diluc fumbles with his words, trying to think of an excuse and while he does, he sees you smirking, trying to hold yourself back from laughing.
“You—!” He shouts, embarrassed.
Diluc wants to crouch under the counter but knows you’ll tease him even further if he does.
“I swear, Diluc. You’re one of the smartest men I’ve ever met and yet you…could be so stupid sometimes.” You say, reaching out for the glass of water he’s set for you.
“You know I’ll never let you go, right?” You remind him.
Diluc doesn’t remember how many times you’ve said those words to him.
He’s starting to believe it.
You really wish you could keep Diluc for yourself. It sounds a bit obsessive now that you think about it, but having your head between his thighs, watching him squirm, trying to not get ahead of himself, makes you jealous of the idea that someone else might get to see this as well.
Diluc’s hair is a mess, the hair tie snapped by your fingers earlier. The feeling of his own hair on his back sends shivers throughout his body.
He knows how wet he is, already so pleased by your attention and littered praises.
With your tongue on his cunt, his nerves are on fire, something that his pyro vision could never do. He’s left thoughtless, holding on to the sheets of the bed, his juices leaking all over it. His face resembles the color of his hair, his cheeks heating more and more, the cold breeze of Monstadt not being a bother despite his bare legs.
“How’s that, my prince?” You tilt your head up to look at his needy eyes, waiting for you to continue.
“V–Very well—” Diluc’s words are cut off by a loud whine, your tongue focusing on his clit, his mouth is left wide open, his legs quivering within your hands.
Diluc closes his eyes, taking in all the pleasure you’re giving him generously.
Diluc tastes so sweet, the alcohol you’ve consumed earlier pales in comparison. It’s so rewarding, like the patience you bore not being able to do anything when girls flocked all over your man is finally being rewarded.
The Darknight Hero sings your name repeatedly, begging you to keep going. His words slurring, climax at its reach.
He cums with a pitiful whimper, his body trembling against the headboard. His head rolls back, thighs unable to stop themselves from shaking.
“Should we take a break?” You ask, fingers intertwining with his, watching his entire body crumble and waiting for him to slowly relax.
“No,” He breathes out. “We can keep going.”
Diluc’s back is arched, his soft ass all up for you to admire while you slam his tight and wet walls.
It’s times like these that you swear the Archons blessed Diluc far too much.
It’s sickeningly amazing how good he feels, the temptation to fill his insides getting to your head.
He writhes and moans, his face down on the pillow, drooling at how good you’re fucking him. The way you hold his waist, keeping him in place as he’s forced to take your rough and pleasurable thrusts.
Diluc muffles his whines with the pillow, unable to control his own body and how it reacts when combined with yours, sobbing at how deep you push yourself in.
“Ah, fuck–” You swear worriedly, knowing you’re nearing ejaculation, Diluc’s insides clenching on your shape.
You pull yourself away, something you’re used to doing when having sex with Diluc. Something that you just accepted without a question.
That is, until Diluc’s shivering hand reaches for your wrist.
“Love?” You ask hastily, upset that you’ve somehow done something wrong.
He buries his head deeper into the pillow and answers your concern, his voice quiet but clear.
“What?” You say, not sure if you heard him correctly or if your mind had finally lost its screws.
“It’s fine.” He says.
You tilt your head to look at Diluc’s flushed face, wanting to confirm again if he said what you think he said.
“What if—”
“I said, it’s fine.” He blushes even deeper than possible.
“Must you really make me be direct and say even more embarrassing things?”
With that, you continue to thrust inside Diluc’s cunt, uttering out praises such as “You drive me crazy.” and repeating your affection for him. “I love you so much, Diluc.”
You finish inside him and Diluc collapses on the bed. It’s different. It’s raw, these emotions of his, unlike the emotions he’s shown when you first met, filtered by what he thinks he should show you.
Your cums leaks out from his walls and while he’s still embarrassed, he loves it.
He loves how warm your seed is. He loves how you make him scream his throat dry. He loves how deep he’s fallen for you. It doesn’t matter how many troubles come his way.
He loves it because it’s you.
So laying there breathless with you on top of him, he pleads.
“More.”
It’s stupid how he thinks he can get away with saying that without paying for it.
Diluc pants heavily, he doesn’t know how many times he’s climaxed nor does he know how many times you’ve filled him completely.
He hears it when you pound inside of him, your cum dripping down his thigh and yet you continue to wreck his walls and replace that waste.
He doesn’t want you to stop.
“Mmh–Like that! Please!”
He begs you, any ounce of shame seeming to have gone away.
“Well, try harder to keep it in. Why don’t you? Such a waste, spilling all my hard work…” You tease, the man whimpering as you hit his sensitive spot.
Diluc’s trying. He really is, but with how much liquid you’ve spilled inside…
It would be a miracle if he doesn’t get knocked up after this. Not that he minded if it’s with you.
“I’m c-close!” He sobs out.
His lower half is heavy and he can’t tell whether it’s because of the amount of cum inside of him or because you fucked his cunt so bad that his thighs numbed.
He believes it’s both.
Diluc moans out your name with a rasp in his voice as he cums for the nth time, his entire body weak and shivering.
He lays down on the bed, his stomach bulging from how much cum he’s managed to keep inside.
He stares at your wicked eyes, wondering if that grin of yours is to be taken positively or not. Diluc sees you visibly bite back your words.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He wonders what else you had to say.
Diluc sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to finish behind him.
You’re currently on your knees, braiding your lover’s hair.
“Your hair would be prettier with some flowers.” You suggest.
He chuckles, tilting his head back to meet your face.
“That sounds bothersome.”
You shake your head at his antics. It was worth a try, at least.
“Hey, if something happens…” You say, concern evident in your face.
“If something happens, I’ll tell you.” Diluc answers before you even ask.
“I see.” You reply.
You tie the end of his hair, the long braid suiting Diluc more than you anticipated. It’ll get curly tomorrow but hey, maybe he’ll start a new trend with the people of Monstadt.
it's taken for granted you'll take the job that nobody else wants, whilst the general is indisposed. you just didn't expect things to turn out like this.
cw: not sfw, minors dni. chubby reader. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used. descriptions of raw meat (animals eating), food, pining, fingering, cunnilingus, coming inside. pet names including little bird, darling, little thing. reader is implied to be shorter than jing yuan.
This was a commissioned work.
It’s a quiet whisper, at first - gossip among the lower-downs of the Luofu. You hear it on the fringes and the edges, but you dismiss it as really none of your business; you’re already working harder than most everyone else thanks to the small matter of your far shorter lifespan, and you don’t intend to set yourself back by listening to idle gossip. You have other things to concentrate on; the busywork that you’ve been assigned to as a junior (very junior) member of the Seat of Divine Foresight.
Really, though they call you a ‘non-administrative support specialist’, you know what you really are; a general dogsbody, somebody to pick up all of the pieces that others sweep by. Still; just getting a position here means you’ve outdone most people, and you hold in your heart the idea that you could get even further up this ladder of success if you simply tried hard enough. You’ve heard tell that even some of the long-life species haven’t managed to make it as far as actually working within the Seat itself, so really . . . you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself.
Which is why you choose to ignore the swirling rumour about your esteemed Arbiter-General until you’re called into a meeting with Yong Hai himself.
(The General is sick, the rumours say. The General may not last another day. The General’s laziness has caught up with him, the General may not make it, and what will we all do then--)
“So,” Yong Hai says, all business. “You’ve probably heard about it already.”
There’s a flare of disquiet in your gut; that the gossip and the rumours you’ve been so steadfastly avoiding are true. You don’t know what the Luofu would do with General Jing Yuan; you cannot imagine the ship and the world without him, when he has been such a stolid presence - and the way that the general public will react doesn’t bear thinking about--
“Stop that,” Yong Hai says, with an amused look in his eye even as he fights to keep his mouth in a firm, commanding line. “It’s not as bad as people are saying. The General has simply . . . contracted something that he isn’t bouncing back as quickly from as we’d hoped. We’ve had to send him off to the Alchemy Commission for a few days, just to see if we can work out how to help . . .” The secretary catches himself, clearly remembering he’s talking to someone who amounts to little more than custodial staff. He coughs. “Anyway. It’s left us in a bit of a conundrum, and after some discussion, we think you’re qualified to handle it.”
You tilt your head to the side as you try and think what you could possibly do to assist in this matter.
You’re no healer; you’re no nurse. You can’t help them figure out how to cure the General, you’re not equipped to sit at his bedside and mop his feverish brow (your cheeks go hot and your face burns at the very thought of it). You certainly can’t take over any of Jing Yuan’s actual duties. The idea of you as any kind of military strategist is laughable--
“How can I help, Sir?” You ask, partly because that is what’s expected of you and partly because you really have no idea what use you’ll be in the situation.
“Ah,” he says, and then he coughs again - he looks into the corner of the room, as if he’s begging someone to help him, and you remember that he and his sister are most often found together. But here, it’s just the two of you, and he has nobody to help him to break whatever news he’s going to break to you. You hope it’s not going to involve cleaning up a sick-room; you’re really not good with that kind of thing--
“We need somebody to tend to his home affairs,” Yong Hai says, eventually. “He . . . Ah, look, I’m going to come out and say it. General Jing Yuan has a penchant for taking in stray animals and the like, and he only even agreed to let himself be looked at on the caveat we had to promise to find someone to look after them.”
You think of the statues of lions that decorate the place, and you feel a trickle of cold sweat down the back of your spine. You hope desperately that the secretary isn’t implying that you’re about to quite literally be fed to the lions--
“Stop looking like that!” He says, exasperated. “All of them are perfectly tame, and you’ll be in no danger. He has a . . . lion that he’s incredibly fond of. Several birds. And . . . ah,” he looks embarrassed again. “He’s informed us he usually leaves out a veritable feast for any other neighbourhood strays on his balcony, and he was very worried that they weren’t going to be properly nourished whilst he was away.”
Finches. You can do that. Neighbourhood strays - cats and dogs, you suppose - are all very well. But the lion . . .
That doesn’t matter. Yong Hai seems to have reached the end of his meeting with you, to his tangible relief. He’s already bustling about his desk and looking longingly towards the closed door.
“A new schedule’s been drawn up for you and sent to you already,” he says. “All of the relevant information should be in the attachments! Have fun, won’t you? The General is so very fond of his pets, you see--”
Your phone beeps as if it is punctuating his point; the secretary beams at you, and you get the distinct impression you are being told to put your best foot forward and roll with the punches. ‘Get on with it’, as someone without any manners might say.
“Understood,” you say, and you force yourself to smile and look on the bright side of things even if you’re sure you’re going to have nightmares about being eaten alive by a lion tonight. This is a post that the General wanted filled personally! This is almost as personal as someone can get to the General, actually; it appears you’ll be working in his actual home! It’s a . . . a step up! A stepping stone!
You force yourself to ignore that it is actually very much a case of sticking the lowest ranked person (and someone well-known for taking on as much as they can with cheerful aplomb, due to your fear of ever really saying ‘no’) onto the job that nobody else wants to do.
“I’ll do my best,” you say, and Yong Hai beams at you even as he gestures for you to go and get to grips with your new role.
Well.
You have no other choice then, really, but to Get On With It.
You are quite frankly terrified the next day, when you turn up to your newest duty. The documents sent to you had instructed you to pick up raw meat for the lion from the General’s most trusted supplier before you went up to his chambers; apparently, birdseed and cat-and-dog food was kept there, but the lion’s appetite could not so easily be sated. You have to give yourself a pep-talk before all of it; have to convince yourself that running away from this new responsibility would be both awful for your career prospects and terribly cruel.
“Ah,” says the supplier, when you turn up and tremulously hand over your phone so he can see the attachments displayed on the screen giving you this new Meat Power, “So you’re looking after the waifs and strays and Mimi, then?”
“Mimi?” You ask, your voice tremulous, and he laughs as he hands over two incredibly full buckets of raw meat. It’s a good job you’re not squeamish.
“That’s the lion,” he says. “The General tried to name her Snow Lion after he realised she wasn’t just going to be a pretty little white housecat, but . . . Mimi fits. You’ll see!”
The concept of Jing Yuan attempting to adopt a pretty little white house cat and being saddled instead with a huge lion, and having to continue to refer to the powerful beast as ‘Mimi’ despite his best efforts, keeps you entertained right up until you’re outside the door to the General’s chambers and you remember that a carnivorous predator awaits you on the other side of it.
“Well,” you say to yourself, hoisting the buckets up and taking a deep breath, “there’s no point delaying the inevitable. If I get eaten today . . .”
And you let the pass-key you’ve been given float against the sensor, until the ornate doors to Jing Yuan’s chambers slowly part and admit you into the Arbiter-General’s inner sanctum.
The first thing that you’re struck by is how it seems that the General left in a rush. The entire place, whilst not dirty, has an air of untidiness. You hear the cheeping of finches from the first room; excitement that their Master may have finally returned to play with them. You can’t help but feel sorry for them - from what Yong Hai has said, it may be quite a while before Jing Yuan is well enough to return to his home.
There are touches of the General everywhere, now that you’re looking. Delicate flowers (you’ve heard he likes small, delicate things, and you can’t help the nervous tug at your clothing as you consider just how indelicate you find yourself). Ceramics and porcelain that you fear are so fragile they may shatter even under your gaze. An unfinished game of star chess, a coffee cup left half-drunk . . . That last one could fetch a fine price in the black market. You’ve heard those traders hawking ‘tissues used by Helm Master Yukong’ or even ‘a book enjoyed by General Jing Yuan’s protege!’.
Before your mind can lead you too far down that dangerous path, though, the lady of the hour appears.
She’s beautiful.
You have to stop yourself gasping aloud. Any fears you might have had seem to fall to the wayside, unimportant, compared to the majesty of the lion before you; the pure white fur, the wise face, the mane that fluffs out from her. She’s pure white; lean, but perhaps with a little pouch at the tummy. Not a single snarl or tangle mars her fur, not a single speck of dirt upon her, like the false moon looking down upon the Luofu--
She sees that you’re holding two big buckets and seems to recognise them, because it’s barely a breath before her ears twitch and she pounces like a kitten, seemingly not realising that you are smaller than her owner and she is far larger than the average kitten is. All of the wind is knocked out of you as you cry out her name and are tackled to the ground.
You find yourself beneath the warmth of her body, a sweet scent emanating from her fur as if the esteemed General regularly bathes and shampoos her. Delighted, she sticks her snout right into one of the buckets. A low, pleased rumble emits from her throat as she works her teeth over the meat--
You reach up, hesitantly, with the one arm that isn’t pinned by the great weight of her. Your fingers hover for a moment, unsure of what to do - is she like a cat? Does she prefer chin scratches or ear scratches?
You settle for a very light pet at the side of her mane, just by her face. Her fur is just as soft as you had thought she would be - a lady who is clearly incredibly spoilt. Well-cared for. You have another flash of a vision of Jing Yuan - combing her mane, tying a shiny ribbon about her neck to match the ribbon he wears in his own hair.
Mimi pauses in her enjoyment of the food. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your senses on a sudden high alert - what if she didn’t like being touched like that? What if she’s about to mistake your hand for a part of the buffet you’ve brought her?
A moment that seems like an hour passes.
And then she leans into your hand with a pleased rumble-squeak-growl, her eyes closing in pleasure, and despite how your heart is beating and your legs are aching from the way she’s twisted them and trapped them beneath her . . . you smile.
For the first week, every time you let yourself into Jing Yuan’s space, you are alone aside from the animals he keeps there. Mimi launches herself at you, but you’ve learnt to sidestep and laugh and ruffle her mane, offering her choice little tidbits to curl up and gnaw on her food whilst you see to the strays that congregate on Jing Yuan’s balcony. They had taken a little longer to warm to you, but after the second day when it became clear if they wanted the same food Jing Yuan usually prepared they would have to come to you, they had thawed considerably. You leave them to their devices, and finish off with the finches.
They hop from place to place in their cage, cheeping brightly. Sometimes they hop onto your finger or your shoulder, looking at you like you’re the most wonderful being in the universe. Once one had hopped onto your head and you’d stayed stock-still for five minutes, afraid of disturbing it.
After all of the pets and animals are fed, you’ve gotten into the habit of sitting with them for a little while. Curling around Mimi and stroking her mane and her tail (you’ve braided it, actually, and told her how pretty she looks with little red ribbons in her fur as she blinked at you her slow, lazy blinks). Listening to birdsong. Letting the strays rub about your feet and imagining the Arbiter-General himself doing all of these mundane tasks.
It’s strange, to think of him as so . . . so much a real person. General Jing Yuan has always seemed a man of mystery and just a touch of romance to you; a long life species who has outlived almost everyone he’s ever worked with, who has steered the Luofu into glories and battled bravely and heroically against Abundance abominations for longer than you’ve been alive. The first time you’d met him, when you’d gotten your place at the Seat of Divine Foresight (before you’d quite found out how meagre your duties really were), you’d been utterly tongue-tied.
He’d been charming, naturally. Smiling and charismatic and low and pleasant-voiced, saying how glad he was to have you aboard and how he hoped you would enjoy your time here. There’d been, perhaps, a flash of sadness in his eye at the knowledge you were a short-life species-- but you’d quickly tried to dispel that notion, scolding yourself for your own romanticism. Jing Yuan is your colleague, your boss - better to not harbour such idealism, to make him into a storybook character instead of a man.
Still. It’s rather hard to imagine him out of breath, puffing and wheezing, after pulling the bucket Mimi had gotten her paw stuck in off of the silly lion’s foreleg before she sent herself into a panic.
You think that the menagerie that he keeps in his private quarters have grown fond of you in turn. The task that everyone had seemed to find so onerous quickly becomes one of your favourite parts of the day; there is something to be said about the healing properties to the soul of having a lion roll over to show you her tummy and wiggle enticingly until you give in to her and give her all of the rubs and tickles that she so clearly desires.
So for about a week and a half, everything chugs along; you fall into routine, and the animals recognise you in turn. They sometimes still crane their necks and heads hopefully around you to see if Jing Yuan is around (Mimi especially occasionally looks dejected at his absence, though her ears perk up once again as soon as she remembers the buckets you come bearing are filled with delicious morsels for her), but when it is just you they still seem somewhat satisfied.
Nobody gives you any warning that Jing Yuan has returned to his own rooms.
Which is why you walk into the main room with your buckets swinging on your arms, singing a silly little song you’ve composed for Mimi about how the meat is soon to be ‘delicious and yummy’ in her ‘full-up-tummy’, you’re so surprised to hear a velvet soft chuckle floating from the big circular sofa in the centre of it that you almost drop all of those delicious-and-yummy steaks and thighs all over Jing Yuan’s ornately tiled floor.
You stare at the sofa, your cheeks going all-over hot, as a mass of blankets moves and shifts and a slightly ruffled pale head emerges from them.
The General himself.
It’s obvious, looking at him, that he hasn’t been feeling his best. His normally tied up hair falls over his face in unstyled sweeps, there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a sharpness to his cheekbones that you have never noticed before. Instead of the armour you have grown so used to seeing him clad in, he wears civilian clothes; a loose shirt that shows off the lines of his throat, his collarbone.
Despite all of that, though, he is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Your heart still skips a beat. He takes you in for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he is not quite awake; and then, a small smile spreads over his handsome face.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, in that low, musical voice. “I’d like to know where the song has to go, after her tummy has been filled.”
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, awkward, nervous, unsure of what to say. “I-- nobody told me you’d be back, I can leave, I didn’t mean to--”
He holds up a lazy hand, the smile still on his face. His eyes are half-lidded, his overall look almost indulgent.
“Please,” he says. “I’m . . . better, but not fully recovered. I’ve been given strict instructions that I'm not to lift heavy objects or do anything more than relax for at least another week. I’d be much obliged - if it’s not too much trouble on top of your own duties, of course - if you could carry on seeing to my . . . what did they call it?” Another small, secret smile. “Ah yes. My little zoo.”
“I-if you’re sure . . .” You say, surprised to find when you say it aloud that you’re relieved. You truly have gotten attached to all of the animals, even in this short time.
Mimi butts your leg, impatient for her food, her huge paw petulantly tapping upon the floor. Jing Yuan laughs again, and you feel your stomach clench at the warm sound as it fills the room.
“Oh, she likes you,” he says, in delight. “I’ve never seen her be so patient with anyone but myself, you know.”
“She’s been friendly since I met her,” you reply, reaching down to scratch her behind her ears and to place the buckets somewhere she won’t make such a mess (though she’s actually a fairly fastidious eater, for someone with no thumbs; you suppose she’s so proud of her lovely white coat that she doesn’t want to risk staining it).
Jing Yuan hums in consideration, his smile not leaving his face, as he watches you pet Mimi and her affectionate head bump before she dives back into her food. As you move into the other sitting room - the one that the finches reside in - you hear more rustling, and as you gather the birdseed you’re surprised to see that Jing Yuan is following you, sloping afterwards determinedly. There’s a definite tilt to his walk - the walk of a man who’s been in bed for a week - and you can’t help but say something.
“Sh-should you be out of bed, General?” You wince at the slight admonishment in your tone, fearing he will think you’re scolding him - but Jing Yuan simply smiles.
“I need to check on my sweet little charges,” he says. “Come now. I’ve been in bed for days. Let me wander about my own rooms without worrying your pretty head too much about it, alright?”
It takes all of your grace not to turn into a pathetic, embarrassed mess at the easy way he says ‘your pretty head’ - somehow, you manage to keep your composure, keep some measure of poise, even as inside you feel yourself turn to mush.
He sits down upon a chaise by the birdcages as you reach in to fill the small bowls and scatter the feed, his eyes not leaving you for a second. He smiles when he sees a finch or two hop upon your hand to peck at the seeds and bits left in the crevices of your palm.
“A true animal whisperer,” he says, watching one of the more inquisitive finches hop up to your wrist and your forearm to tug teasingly at your elbow-length sleeves. “They’re not too fond of strangers, either.”
“I have been feeding them for a week, Sir,” you say to him, with a smile at the finch as you urge it off of your arm and back to the rest of its friends. “They’ve gotten used to me.”
He shakes his head, his hair falling about his shoulders, and you’re struck with the thought that he and Mimi even look similar. You’ve heard the old adage about how pet owners and their pets grow to look the same, of course, but you’d never realised quite how true it was until that moment and the sight of Jing Yuan doing a motion you’ve grown used to Mimi doing.
He follows, too, as you take food and water onto the balcony. As cats wind around first your ankles, and then his - as dogs wag their tails and lick at your hands.
“If I were a jealous man . . .” He says, laughing. “They must see something truly special in you.”
“Me?” You ask, aiming for a tinkly laugh but landing on ‘incredulous’. “No, they’re just sweet creatures. All of them are.”
He’s unerringly patient with the animals; his big hands tender as they scratch ears and tickle chins. Seeing the great General being so delicate makes your heart turn over in your chest; his big, scarred hands in direct opposition to the delicate bones and the soft fluff of all of the creatures that mass here.
“Don’t be so modest,” Jing Yuan says quietly in reply. “I’ve known some of these animals for years. If they didn’t think you were something special . . .”
Your cheeks are hot again. Somehow, in the course of this conversation, Jing Yuan has gotten closer and closer to you. Out here on the balcony, under the warm false sun of the Luofu, there’s nowhere for Jing Yuan to sit and watch - so he’s stood close to you. Close enough that you can see the warm gold amber of his gaze, the fan of his lashes, the mole high up beneath his eye. You swallow, and the sound is almost indecently loud even with the background mewls and barks and purrs.
“I’m glad that they found someone so able to do this for me,” he says, his voice still quiet. That single word, those single two syllables, somehow manage to be imbued with more meaning than you’d ever imagined they could be. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”
“Just until you’re feeling a bit better,” you reply, cheeks still hot, throat still sore, heart still beating far too fast in your chest. You wonder what Jing Yuan is thinking as he looks down at you - if he has noticed your anxiety, the way that he seems to set you all aflutter. You hope he thinks it is merely because he is your superior, and not because it’s so very hard not to dwell on his looks and his warm voice and the surprisingly different persona that he shows when he’s doing this--
Jing Yuan is still smiling at you, from back on the sofa covered in his blankets with Mimi spread out protectively over his feet, as you foolishly wave goodbye and leave his chambers.
You get to witness Jing Yuan’s recovery firsthand. The first few days, he is still unsure of his own limbs; he still slowly lopes around the rooms. Once or twice, you come in to feed the animals and he stays wrapped within his blankets, Mimi only leaving his side to demand some cuddles and some meat from you.
Despite his illness, though, he always has time to talk to you. He always asks you how you are feeling, what you have been doing; he teases you for how the animals seem to recognise you just as well as him now. When one of the finches pecks at your cheek, he chuckles and says;
“Ah, wouldn’t we all like to give our little bird a kiss like that?”
You don’t know how to respond to that, ducking your head, muttering something unintelligible that wins another of his laughs. His words err on the edge of being flirtatious. Once or twice he compliments your outfit, your hair - how lovely you look today. You never know how to react to such things; you force yourself not to dwell on them, reminding yourself of Jing Yuan’s own looks and his position and trying to tell yourself not to get attached and that the General is merely trying to be polite.
One afternoon, he asks you to sit with him and have tea.
It would be rude of you to say no; not when he has placed two teacups before him, anticipating your acceptance, a plate of sweet treats in an amount that would be gluttonous even for him arranged with the tea service. So you try and gracefully position yourself across from him. You try and remember your manners as you take the cup by the handle, as you choose the least ornamented and sugary of the delicacies on offer--
(It’s hard not to remember being told not to indulge at all. You feel conscious of eating in front of him--)
“Have this one,” Jing Yuan says, as if he can read your mind, and he pushes towards you an intricately decorated little cake resplendent with sugar roses and ruffles. “It’s one of my favourites.”
Your mouth waters. You give him an embarrassed smile as he encourages you further, reaching over to pick it up himself and place it upon your plate instead of merely pushing it.
“Really?” You ask, trying to pick it up neatly. “It’s a bit more delicate than I thought you’d like. I suppose I imagined you liking things a little rougher--”
Your face goes hot as you realise what you just said, but Jing Yuan ignores the innuendo and simply smiles at you.
“Ah,” he says. “I like things that are . . . delicate. Smaller than me. So lovely to observe and enjoy, don’t you think?” His gaze doesn’t leave your face. You have never considered yourself delicate - the curves that you display have put an end to that - but under his eyes, you can’t help but think of the breadth of his shoulders and his height and think how a man like him could make even you feel small and breakable. “What do you think?”
The little cake is sweet on the tongue, flavoured with a hint of something you can’t quite name. Your eyes widen in surprise.
“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, swallowing the bite and enjoying how the taste lingers. “Truly.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he says - and then, he reaches over the table. “You have something--”
You go stock-still, embarrassed and shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of icing from the corner of your mouth. He keeps your gaze the whole time. It is something a lover does - it is not something you’d ever expected General Jing Yuan to do for you--
“There,” he says, returning to his cake as if nothing has happened. “It would be a terrible shame if I couldn’t see all of your lovely face, after all.”
He is always saying things like this; off-the-cuff remarks that, if he were not the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, you would interpret as being flirty. He mentions them when you have tea together, when he ropes you into playing a game of star chess (“Don’t think I will go easy on you because you are nice to look at,” he says, as he places the counters into their starting positions), when he watches you and Mimi and you and the finches and tells you that he cannot decide which is cuter.
You see him get gradually stronger and stronger. No more limping. He is almost always dressed, now. His hair no longer falls in shaggy waves about his face. His dark circles dissipate, his voice getting somehow even deeper and more velvety.
The unspoken reality that soon, Jing Yuan will be well and you will no longer have to take on this extra duty hangs over your head.
You find that the idea makes you feel sick. You are not only enjoying caring for the animals, now, but you’ve also started to look forward to seeing the General.
Well.
That’s not quite it.
You have to be honest with yourself, don’t you?
You’ve developed a crush on him.
You can’t imagine not seeing him. Not being greeted with Mimi’s butts and her batting paws; not hearing the pleased chirps of his finches whenever they see you. Not enjoying tea with him any more, simply existing in this lazy golden time when you do not have to think about work or his position above you or anything other than the four walls that surround you and the multiple hearts beating within it.
Jing Yuan brings it up first.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, coughing one day after the two of you have played a game of star chess that you were thoroughly destroyed during. “Well. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m getting better.”
“I’m glad to see it, Sir,” you say, forcing a smile to your face even as your heart falls into the region of your feet. “We were all very worried about you. Everyone is always asking me how you are and when you’ll be returning to work--”
His face clouds, a flinch so quick you almost miss it.
“Yes,” he says, a mournful tone to his voice. “I’ll soon be returning to work.”
You tell yourself sternly not to cry. This was never supposed to be permanent.
“Then I suppose you won’t need me any longer,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. You are going to be gracious if it kills you.
“Ah,” Jing Yuan replies. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I . . . we are all very fond of you, you see.” He motions to Mimi, who has come to curl beside you, her head laid against your knee. “I fear Mimi will riot if you were to stop bringing her all of those steaks, you understand. And who knows what she’d do, deprived of your song about her tummy?”
You squeak in embarrassment. Mimi lifts her head and gives you a slow, displeased look, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement.
“Well. I’m very aware that it’s not part of your duties, and I’d be willing of course to pay you more for all of the trouble, but--”
You see Jing Yuan falter for one of the first times; as if he is afraid that you are about to reject him outright. He coughs, trying to hide his anxiety, but it is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with and as such you recognise it for what it is.
“We’re all so very fond of you,” he repeats. “Won’t you keep coming?”
You barely leave a breath before you’re happily agreeing.
It’s not quite the same.
You knew it wouldn’t be; you knew that you wouldn’t see Jing Yuan anywhere near as often, as he resumed all of the many duties that the Arbiter-General has to take on. Despite how unenthused he had seemed to be returning to his work, you knew that Jing Yuan took his responsibilities terribly seriously).
Still.
You had thought you might see him more. Might still be able to drink a cup of tea with him, even if it could not be the same kind of slow, languid time the two of you had taken over it before. You’d thought that there’d still be time for a conversation or two.
The reality is that you almost never see the General now.
At work, your paths had crossed only rarely; now, hyper-aware of his presence, you realise that you see him almost never. Not at work, and not at his own home.
You’re still excited to see the animals - for the finches to happily chirp at you as if they’re telling you about their day. One of them rides about on your shoulder, now, even when you go out to feed the strays. You’re still excited to tell Mimi what a good girl she is and rub her tummy and play with her (she’s inordinately fond of ribbons and the chasing thereof, like an overgrown housecat).
But without Jing Yuan there . . .
There’s something missing.
You still do your duties as well as you can - Jing Yuan has negotiated a hefty raise for you, all things considered - but you can’t help sometimes leaving his home feeling a little empty at the lack of seeing the General. You can’t help being disconsolate as you think about him - as you remember his flirty little asides, the way he’d looked at you across the room, the smile that played across his mouth whenever he did. You know he couldn’t really be interested in you, that he was probably like that with most people - but a secret little flame cannot help but burn in your heart even so.
Days pass, quiet, lonely. You work, and feed the animals, and go home to your own empty quarters. You work, feed, go home, work, feed, go home--
Until one evening, when you’re just about to leave Jing Yuan’s chambers, when the door opens and the General appears. He looks a little red in the face; his breath comes in short little pants. You’ve never seen him so obviously flustered; usually, Jing Yuan fits perfectly up to his reputation as the Drowsy General.
“Are you alright?” You ask him, rushing over. You’re touching him before you’ve thought through consequences; finger hovering over his pulse point, reaching up to feel his forehead to make sure he’s not running a temperature. Through the panting, he looks at you and smiles.
“I’m afraid,” he says, still breathing heavily, his voice rasping. “I made up a little lie to be able to get back here on an errand that doesn’t really exist.”
“General,” you scold him. It’s not like him to shirk responsibilities. He laughs.
“Yes, yes, I know, little thing-- but I had to see you. I wanted to see you again.”
You think he’s misspoken.
“I have to get back,” he says, and he reaches down - his hands upon your cheek again. You don’t know how to reply, what to say, what is going on. All you know is that you are there, and Jing Yuan is there, and something is happening. Fizzing on the air is a promise that something is going to change. “But . . . I couldn’t-- I needed to finally--”
Jing Yuan kisses you.
It’s a kiss as messy and rushed as he is right now. A kiss that says that he has to hurry back, despite how much he doesn’t want to. You, unused to being kissed and even more unused to being kissed by handsome military leaders who feel a hundred times out of your league, do not kiss him back. He’s messy and wet, and his teeth clash against your lips as you stand there, feeling foolish and wrong-footed.
He realises you’re not kissing him back, and he stops - he draws back, his eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak.
He’s going to say it was a mistake, you realise. He’s going to say he thought you were someone else, that he was carried away in the heat of the moment. You and Jing Yuan? No. It couldn’t be. It’s absurd, it’s silly, nobody could ever believe it - and yet.
And yet.
Your heart couldn’t take his rejection.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out - and you push past him and out of the door and back towards the comforting ordinary normality of your own empty rooms.
Despite your embarrassment, fear and all of those other emotions keeping you up all night, when you wake up the next morning you know that things will be worse the more you put them off. So you get dressed for work and you thank Lan that, when you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is nowhere to be seen.
You hope he is hard at work, far away from you. You cannot quite face him yet. You haven’t properly said goodbye to your foolish dreams.
You can’t shirk your other duties either, so at the ordinary time you stand up from your desk (you’ve somehow been saddled with the job of reviewing paperwork for grammar inconsistencies. You feel certain there ought to be software of some sort that does this job for you, but it had been laid here on your desk when you’d gotten to it and you were not in the habit of arguing about your duties), and you head to the designated supplier of raw meats for Mimi’s consumption.
“Oh,” says the supplier, the evening after Jing Yuan had finagled a way to see you. “He told me to let you know to go straight up today.”
You frown, not quite sure why; you hope Mimi is alright. It feels strange to be going towards Jing Yuan’s home without your arms weighed down with buckets of meat, but you push forward even so. You hope last night - the awkward kiss, the way he had looked at you - does not sour things between the two of you. You hope that he isn’t about to tell you to never come back. Your heart makes a new home, somewhere in the vicinity of your throat, as you hesitantly knock upon his door.
A beat passes. Your mind helpfully provides you with all of the ways in which Jing Yuan could be about to fire you - or worse, let you down gently and admit that he had a moment of weakness. In that moment, you suddenly seem so much more aware than before of yourself - of the unfashionable curves, of the amount of space you take up, of how a man like Jing Yuan could surely not have really wanted to kiss someone like you - and then, he has opened the door and he is smiling at you and he doesn’t look angry.
Instead, upon seeing you there, a smile passes across his face; tugs at the corners of his lips, crinkles the corners of his eyes.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says to you - and he reaches across the threshold and his hand brushes your cheek, as soft and tender with you as he is with his finches. “I’m sorry if I frightened you last night.”
“I’m sorry I ran,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I just . . . I didn’t think you-- and somebody like me-- and I was afraid--”
He lays a finger over your lips, still smiling.
“It’s alright,” he says, in that low, smooth voice. “I’m sorry if I caused you undue trouble, little bird.” The pet name falls from his lips as easily as any other trifle, though it makes you feel hot and aware of yourself and flattered all at once. “Please come in.”
He takes your hand to gently urge you across the threshold, his touch still feather light. You think, as he does it, of all of the other things those hands have done; all of the battles they have waged, all of the strength that must be contained within them despite how gentle his touch is now.
“I’ve asked someone else to take care of the animals,” he says to you, not letting go of your hand as he leads you through the front room. You realise with a start exactly where he is taking you as he approaches a door you have never had reason to open before. He looks at you, eyes keen and golden. “I wanted us to be alone. I would hope, little bird, if you do not want this . . .”
“I do,” tumbles from your mouth. It is nothing but the honest truth. You let the crush that you’ve been trying to deny, the fear of Jing Yuan not liking you or finding you attractive, the anxieties of not being good enough, all wash over you, in favour of the beating of your heart and the feel of his hand on your face and the sight of his hand upon the doorknob of his bedroom.
He turns fully so he stands before you. Hands come up, cradling your face; thumbs brushing the plump apples of your cheek, fingertips upon the soft flesh. He is smiling still, even as he dips his head lower, so low you can see the multitudes of swirling shades of gold in his eyes.
“Promise me,” he murmurs, low and soft. “Tell me you want me the way I want you. No expectations, little one. Your career, your position, your everything - nothing will change if you do not want me as badly as I desire you. Honesty.” You realise a tear has escaped from the corner of your eye. You have never felt so . . . seen. So very much wanted. So sure of anything in your life. He wipes that tear with his thumb, tilting your face closer to him so that if you just angled your head differently you could kiss him. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” you whisper, and Jing Yuan’s lips meet yours.
This kiss is entirely unlike the one from yesterday; this kiss is slow, luxurious. Jing Yuan starts off gentle with you, his hand still cupping your jaw - his lips moving against yours in slow, indolent waves. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth and wins a gasp from you, a hitch of your breath, as your own hands come up to rest lightly upon his chest. You feel his mouth curve into a smile against your own.
“You’re adorable,” he rumbles, pulling back just enough that you can still feel his breath on your face. “Truly - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”
“I--” You helplessly stare up at him. You can barely believe this is happening, as he pushes open the door to his most private of domains. “Really?”
He laughs again, gently taking your arm and urging you into the room. You are helpless to do anything but follow him - to let him slowly, slowly, slowly pull you beside him and onto his bed.
“You really have no idea how . . . desirable you are?” He asks, voice low and husky, humming with want. His hand skims over your cheek, the nape of your neck, following the line of your jaw and your throat to linger over your collarbone. His eyes follow the path his fingers take, not moving from your form for an instant. “You really didn’t notice me staring at you, little bird?” He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. His lips brush over the pulse point in your neck, making you squeak in surprise again even as it sends a bolt of heat to the space between your legs. “Imagining what you would feel like under my hands? Imagining what you would look like, divested of that maddeningly conservative uniform they make you wear?” Another kiss, this one with a hint of teeth. You realise with a hot flush of embarrassment mixed with want you have cried out at the sensation of the almost-bite. “Imagining how you would react to every touch I gave you?”
“Sir,” you pant, dazed and amazed and hot and needy. “I-- I thought about you, too--”
“Oh,” he murmurs, as his big fingers slide over your body, feeling the ample shape of you through that same conservative uniform. His big palms brush the soft chub of your upper arms, the meat of your chest, the shape of your waist and over the curve of your hips, basely appreciating your body even beneath the fabric. “I’m sure they were no match for the utterly filthy things I imagined doing to you.”
His thumb digs into the indent of your waist, tugging you closer to him so that you’re pressed tighter against his body. He smiles down at you, every inch the conquering general, and your heart beats in time with the pounding between your legs. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Wanting and hungry and lustful, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. It’s not a look you’re overly familiar with receiving - but oh, does it feel amazing to be on the receiving end of it from Jing Yuan.
“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs down to you, and you almost laugh, for you do not feel fragile - but Jing Yuan continues speaking, and you get lost in the dulcet tone of his voice. “So very mortal. So very ephemeral . . .” He sighs, dips his head and kisses you again, a flurry of pecks upon your lips as his thumb draws circles where it rests. “Will you let me make the most of having you, little bird? Let me show you how beautiful you are?” He smiles. “I have always had a weakness for delicate things.”
He means it.
Any time you have ever felt too big; ungainly, or ill-shaped - all of it falls to the wayside under the warm haze of being looked at and admired and wanted by Jing Yuan. You find yourself smiling up at him, aware you probably look as though there is not a thought in your head, but the General doesn’t seem to mind as he looks at you with hunger colouring his gaze.
“May I undress you?” He asks, voice low and cajoling. His fingers tease beneath the neckline of your uniform, and it feels as though they leave a trail of fire everywhere they linger. You do not trust yourself to speak; you nod at him, your breath coming out in short little pants. He makes a soft noise of approval, before his fingers are working at buttons and fabric. Cool air hits your bare skin; your uniform is gently cajoled off of your body, tossed aside to be worried about later as Jing Yuan’s hungry eyes drink in every new inch of your exposed skin.
He does not stop praising you as he does it.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, as your top half is bared, as his eyes roam over your chest and his hands come up and squeeze the generous curve of them, palms rough against delicate skin. You shiver as his thumbs find your nipples, as they rub over them again and again until the buds stiffen beneath his touch and a soft whine escapes the back of your throat. “You’re beautiful.”
His tone is nothing if not worshipful. By slow, luxurious degrees, Jing Yuan helps divest you of your garments. As your underwear and bottoms are rolled down, as fabric bunches at thighs and knees, he does not stop murmuring sweet nothings about how soft you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to be able to see you like this.
About how he has been thinking about having you like this since the moment he saw you.
“You looked so beautiful then too,” he murmurs, as your underwear is pulled from your ankles. He briefly gazes at it, the gusset saturated with your slick, and he smiles. “Ah . . . that little song, the nervous, shy reaction to realising I was there - the sight of you all soft-eyed and adoring with Mimi . . . I’ve never wanted to have my wicked way with somebody quite so much.”
You’re bare beneath him, Jing Yuan slowly urging you to lay down upon the coverlets of his large bed. You suppose that it’s so large so that if Mimi desires to sleep with him, she can, but it alongside Jing Yuan’s own size simply helps you feel small and delicate and breakable in a way you never have before.
“I wanted to know,” Jing Yuan murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over yours, teasing and feather-light. “If you would be quite so adorable, squirming and nervous and vulnerable, if I were to have you like this.”
Your cheeks are hot. Jing Yuan has not lost a single garment of his own, but you are entirely unguarded to whatever he wants to do to you now - bare of every scrap of fabric. His gaze lingering on your body almost makes you want to draw in; to curl around the exposed flesh of your stomach, to cover the pudge.
Jing Yuan notices something in the way you hold yourself. He smiles down at you and cups your cheek.
“Don’t hide,” he breathes. “I want to see all of you, little thing. I want you to know how beautiful I find you.”
“I--”
He takes your hand in his, shifting so he is on his knees between your legs. Gently, he guides your unsure hand to the space over his own crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you can sense the heat of him; the stiffness pushing against his trousers.
“If I did not want you,” he says, “why would you make me so needy, hmm? Feel what you do to me.” He presses your hand a little harder against it, a soft hiss of breath escaping him, encouraging you to not simply take his word for it. Your face hot as ever, you do so; give a gentle squeeze that makes him groan. “Ah-- be careful, sweet thing. I want to take my time over you.”
He lets go of your hand, gently urging you to place it back beside you. Your fingers find purchase in his sheets. You still cannot quite believe where you are; that it’s the great Arbiter-General leaning over you, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen.
“I-it’s not fair,” you say to him, your voice dry. “I’ve lost all of my clothes, and you’re still fully dressed--”
He chuckles. This time, when he bends down, there’s a slow, deliberate quality about him. He kisses your neck again; trails wet butterfly kisses over your collarbones, lower and lower to the swell of your chest. His hands come to cup the generous weight of them, even as his mouth floats closer and closer to your nipples, tightening and stiffening in anticipation.
“I told you,” he says, murmuring in between flicks of his tongue against the buds. “I want to take my time over you.” He looks at you, eyes half-lidded. “Ah, you short-life species . . . You never learn patience. I have all of the time in the world to give you ecstasy over and over--”
People call Jing Yuan the Dozing General. As he applies his tongue to your nipples, though - as he suckles and nips and bites, as he kisses and squeezes until you feel dizzy with the attention he’s lavishing upon you, you realise that they are misinformed. Jing Yuan is not lazy or dozing - Jing Yuan merely likes to take his time over things.
And oh, is he enjoying taking his time over you.
You whine under his touch. You whimper and squirm, your cheeks flooding hot, your entire body prickling with tension and pleasure as his attentions upon your nipples send shockwaves of pleasure down to your sex. You feel wetness fair seeping out of you; slick rolling down your thighs, making a mess of Jing Yuan’s bed sheets.
“Please,” you manage to get out, dry-voiced and wanting, after what seems like an eternity. “Please, Sir--”
“Jing Yuan,” He corrects you, a smile on his face as he continues to trail wet kisses over your bare skin. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to call me ‘Sir’ buried knuckle-deep in you, sweet thing? We are on even ground here.”
It’s hard not to think of him as the General. You are currently barely able to string a thought together, and he hasn’t even touched the place between your thighs yet. Still - you need him to touch you somewhere else. You need his attentions to give your chest a break (your nipples are sore, stiffened points - your skin slick with the wetness of his licks and kisses) and move to somewhere else. You force out, through your desire to genuflect to his status, his given name.
“Jing Yuan--”
“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes amused. “Do you need something, little bird?”
“Please . . .” A soft exhale, trying to work through the mass of sensations and needs that your body seems to have become. Jing Yuan does not stop touching even as you try and get out your words; still gently squeezing and toying with the weight of your chests. He’s smiling, enjoying watching you desperately work through the haze of your desire.
“Your words,” he says, a maddening smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do all in my power to give you it.”
“Please,” you say again, your brain fuzzy. His hands move from your chest now; big palms travelling over the curve of your stomach, your hips, resting there in a way that makes you almost lose all of your senses. “I want you to touch me . . . there--”
“Where, little thing?” He’s still smiling. “Here?” A gentle squeeze to your hips. “Here?” His palm roves over your stomach, the soft pouch just above your mound. You whimper again. “Ah. Come now--”
“Between my legs,” you whisper, voice tight and breaking with desire. “Jing Yuan, please--”
“Ah,” he laughs, dips down and kisses you once on the mouth. “You need only to ask. Spread your thighs for me, lovely thing.”
You do, utterly helplessly. Jing Yuan sighs reverently, moving further down so that he can bend his head to look at you. Your face burns under his scrutiny, fearful that he will find something lacking in your body even as his eyes greedily drink you in like you are the finest wine. He breathes deeply, and you hope that your scent is not off-putting - and then, his fingers are sliding slowly and surely up the soft plush of your legs and closer and closer to the space between your thighs and your heart is beating too fast and your breath is coming in short pants.
“Calm down,” he murmurs, and you keen as his hands reach your sex; as he uses his thumbs to spread the plump lips of your labia apart and the cool air hits your slick, heated core. “Ah, darling . . .”
There is so much in those two syllables. Hunger and desire and adoration, all mixed together as one. In another world, with another person, it might have made you feel self-conscious; but Jing Yuan looks down at you as if you are the most beautiful treasure he has ever had the good fortune to witness.
He leans down, down - and you squeak as you realise what he’s about to do, surprised, but it does not deter him at all as he lets his tongue take a slow, luxurious lick down your sex. The base of his tongue presses against your clit, the pressure on the swollen hitherto ignored nub almost enough to make you come right there and then - but then he pulls back again, chuckling.
“Mm,” he says. “If I allow myself to sample too much of something so sweet, I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure.” He moves his hand instead; lets his fingers explore the length of you, fingertips brushing against your clenching entrance and dancing about your swollen clit. There is little pressure exerted on your sex; merely Jing Yuan’s slow, considering explorations. You clench your own fingers into the bedsheets in order to stop yourself writhing.
“Lovely,” Jing Yuan says to himself. “Ah, you feel like velvet. Such a pretty thing; so perfectly made . . .” He sighs, even as the tip of his longest finger nudges against your entrance. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to suck him in and get him to put his finger inside of you, but he clicks his tongue with an amused chide; “Impatient,” he says. “Ah. You’re lucky you’re so irresistible--”
He slides his finger inside of you, slowly but certainly. You sigh, your lashes fluttering closed - his touch stokes all of those fires inside of you, of course, burning to fever pitch . . . but the sensation of finally having something inside of you has also made you realise how empty you felt before. It feels good, to have something to fill that pulsing space. Jing Yuan watches with rapt attention as he slides his finger half out, and then half inside of you again.
You have had some experience, but you have never felt the way Jing Yuan makes you feel.
“You take it so well,” he murmurs. “Look how pretty you look with something inside of you. Ah. I could spend hours doing this to you . . .”
You make a soft whine of discontent at the idea and he laughs, clicking his tongue even as he’s letting his second finger dance at your entrance ready to join the first.
“No, even I do not have the patience for that right now,” he agrees. “Not when you feel so wonderful, little bird. Not when I cannot wait to see you come apart.”
The second finger; a slight scissoring motion as it enters you, getting you used to the size and stretch of two of his digits instead of one. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every wet pump, sending frissons of pleasure to the tips of your toes; but he still does not rush himself. He still lets himself enjoy the feel of you clinging tightly to his fingers, the sight of them disappearing inside of your slick, drooling hole.
“Does that feel good?” He asks you, deciding you haven’t spoken recently enough. “Tell me if you want me to go faster, sweet thing--”
“Please,” you say, ragged, breathing heavy. You can feel a tight hot ball of tension between your legs, rolling in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. “Please, Jing Yuan, faster--”
“Very well,” he smiles, and he crooks his fingers inside of you to find your g-spot - causing your back to arch involuntarily, a whine of pure enjoyment to loose itself from your throat. At the same time, his thumb moves to play with your clit - to toy with the bud, to roll and to circle and to press against the swollen bundle of nerves. What already felt like electric shocks of pleasure move on; instead, they are lightning bolts, ricocheting up your spine and stopping just short of striking earth.
“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says, and you are staring at his mouth. How a strand of your own gossamer-thin arousal is still glimmering at the corner. How his eyes are so focused on you that his gaze feels almost scorching. “That’s right. Let go for me, sweet thing--”
His soft entreaty pushes you over the edge, and the lightning strikes home as your peak hits you with all of the force of a storm.
His fingers work you over the crest of your orgasm, the two inside of you constantly rubbing against that spongy spot that makes you see stars, the big pad of his thumb roughly sliding over your twitching clit in circles and lines. As the waves come to a head and then slowly begin to dissipate, he slows his attentions too - until the slow strokes of his fingers fade out into nothing. He does not seem to care that you’ve soaked his fingers and his palm and the fabric he wears and his bed too - merely keeps looking at you, smiling, like you’re giving him the most precious gift imaginable.
“Good,” he praises you. “But . . . I’m afraid that just that taste from earlier wasn’t quite enough, little bird. May I use my mouth on you?”
Who would ever believe this? Who would ever imagine little old you, on the Arbiter-General’s bed, as he looks at you and waits for your permission to fuck you with his tongue? You feel rather tongue-tied yourself - but you recall what Jing Yuan said earlier, about using your words.
“Please do,” you say, aloud, and Jing Yuan gives you that same smile that makes you feel like the only being in the whole universe.
“Thank you,” he says, sounding entirely like he means it - like it’s truly an honour for him to be able to serve you on his hands and knees. And then he has moved his body further down the bed, elegant and graceful and leonine, and his mouth is heading towards the slick-soaked place between your legs and his tongue is glinting wet in the bedroom and then he is on you, licking at you, hungrily devouring your sex like it is his last meal before an execution.
You’re still oversensitive from his earlier attentions, and the sensation of the wet muscle of his tongue working over you almost pushed you into another early orgasm. Your fingers move from where they’re still clenched into the bedsheets to cling to his hair instead, pulling on the silvery pale strands as your back arches and you blindly cant your hips forward towards his mouth.
He groans aloud at having his hair pulled, and the groan sends vibrations all through your body that make you feel weak at the knees, your toes curling. His tongue continues its assault; back and forth, back and forth. Wetness drools from your sex and onto his face; you can feel the heat in his cheeks, the fan of his lashes against your bare skin.
He twirls his tongue about your entrance, teasingly dips into it, as the channel of your sex constricts and pulses in an attempt to pull him even further in. He groans as your hands knit further into his hair, fucking you for a moment with his tongue before he seems to try and work his face further into your sex.
It’s like he wants to engulf you; soft noises of pleasure keep falling from his mouth, interspersed with rumbling groans. He’s almost gyrating against the bed, you realise, your cheeks hot - grinding his crotch into the mattress as if he’s desperate to have some attention of his own.
That sight makes your mouth go dry; all of the moisture in your body instead congregating between your legs to make a new home in Jing Yuan’s mouth and smeared across his cheeks.
His tongue flicks across your clit and the noise that escapes you is almost animal; Jing Yuan says something, perhaps, or at least makes some kind of muffled noise from his position happily buried in your sex before he shifts his tongue just so and his mouth fastens around your clit fully.
Sucking and licking, suckling upon the pearl like his life depends upon it; tongue occasionally just brushing under the hood, where you’re most engorged, and you can do nothing but cling onto his hair and pull at it as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt rips through your body.
You cannot put into words the way that you feel as Jing Yuan devours you. Your entire body feels, suddenly, as if it weighs nothing; as if sparkling lights suffuse your fingers and toes and you float into the stratosphere, white lights dancing behind your eyes in time with your whine (a whine so loud you’re sure everybody on the Luofu must have heard of it).
You come down, eventually, to the sound of Jing Yuan panting. The wet noise as his mouth separates from you, the pleased grin on his face as he uses his thumb to wipe his mouth of some of your slick. It’s a pointless endeavour, really; his face is so saturated with it you’re not sure if he’ll ever be dry again.
“Darling,” Jing Yuan repeats, looking you in the eye, smiling like the cat who has gotten the cream. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed doing that.”
The words almost make you go over shy - but you push that to the side. There is no point, you decide, being nervous of a man who has now known you so intimately.
“In which case,” you say, breathlessly - your voice is still a little scratchy from the moaning and whimpering you’ve been doing - “Will you let me make you feel just as good?”
He looks at you for a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs.
“Why,” he says. “Of course I will.”
“Come,” Jing Yuan is murmuring, and he is finally removing his own clothes. Armour drops to the side of him, shirts unbuttoned and fastenings unhooked. His body is muscular and dotted with scars, befitting his status as a military hero; a light dusting of pale hair upon his proud chest, down into a trail to the vee of his hips. You swallow, your throat dry, trying to blink back the waves of pleasure that are still lapping gently at your shores in order to concentrate on what’s going on. His face is still wet with your slick, his hair damp with sweat and falling in messy strands over his flushed face. He looks well-fucked even without you touching him back, as if merely getting you to feel good was enough for him.
His cock. It’s stiff against the hard planes of his abdomen, a thick, pretty specimen bubbling with precome at the flushed tip. He sighs, running his hand over it once, and your mouth practically waters at the way it twitches. It looks stiff and hard enough that you wonder if it hurts, to want so badly - but Jing Yuan looks at you and smiles, as he rearranges himself on the bed. Pillows are moved, and before you know it he has sat against them, propping himself up like an emperor upon his throne. His cock stands proud and wanting, and he gently pats his thigh as if he is calling an obedient animal to him.
“I don’t wish to hurt you, little bird,” he says - and again, you think of how it feels to be smaller than him. How he does not care about the flesh that spills from straps or curves over fabric. How he looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the world and calls you ‘delicate’ and ‘little’ and ‘precious’ and means them. “Come. Take a seat. As slowly as you need.”
Despite how he has seen you so intimately, you cannot help but feel a little flare of fear as you approach him. He smiles, entirely at peace and at comfort with you going at your own pace, and you could kiss him for it.
“Touch,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid.”
With trembling fingers, you reach out; let your hand encircle his cock, get used to the width and the feel of him and imagine it inside of you. He pulses beneath your palm, a soft hum of pleasure falling from the back of his throat as you give it a cursory pump. He curses softly as your thumb rubs across the slit of his cockhead, the bubble of precome wetting the pad.
“Touch,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t get me too excited, little bird. I don’t want to come anywhere but inside of you.”
Your cheeks go hot at his easy profession; your tongue darts out to trace your lower lip. You’re used to the feel of him now; the heat that seems to stir beneath the surface of his cock, the veins that marble the side of his shaft, the ruddy pink of the head. Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs and let yourself readjust, straddling him. His own hands come up to cling to your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh there.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, as if in devotion, as if praying to an Aeon. “You’re beautiful.”
His cockhead brushes your clit as you fit it snugly between the lips of your sex; you shift your hips, until it catches against your entrance and your eyes flutter closed.
Your eyes are still closed as you begin to lower yourself down, so you feel every inch of him as he makes his home within your body. Your eyes being closed, of course, you miss the softness and the warmth that fills Jing Yuan’s gaze as he looks at you. The brief moment of sadness that passes behind his eyes as he remembers that you are a short-life species; that he cannot have all of the time in the world with you, to teach you pleasures the likes of which you do not yet know. The sadness he cannot spend his lifetime learning you by heart--
But you hear the soft murmur of your name, as he bottoms out inside of you and you take a moment to simply rest there with him buried as deep inside of you as he can go. You feel the way one of his hands slides up your spine to grip the back of your head and to pull you into a kiss as deep and adoring as anything else he’s done so far.
Teeth and tongue and lips, whimpering and gasping into one another’s mouths until you do not know where he ends and where you begin, Jing Yuan somehow manages to murmur;
“Move whenever you want, sweet thing. Set the pace.”
It does not, in the end, feel like either of those things happen. Instead, it feels as though the universe sets the pace for you; as if you simply know when to begin to move your hips, how to bend and angle yourself just so in order for Jing Yuan to hit all of the most sensitive spots inside of you.
One hand remains on your hip, helping you with the pace - the other remains on the back of your head, to allow him to kiss, as if he doesn’t want to let his mouth separate from yours for any longer than necessary. It’s a romance that you didn’t expect of the General, but it’s hardly one you’re going to complain about when his mouth feels so good and the constant nibbling of your lip and curl of his tongue against yours is distracting you from the mounting pleasure already starting to coalesce inside of you.
There is nothing in the world for a while except Jing Yuan’s body underneath yours. His hands, his mouth, the feel of his shoulders beneath your own palms where you cling to him for leverage. You sweat and breathe and kiss and fuck as one, until the call inside of you becomes too much to ignore.
“I’m--” You pull back from the kiss to whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m going to--”
“Shh,” Jing Yuan says, kissing again. His own voice climbs in pitch, and you hear a shiver and a shudder in his syllables that makes you aware that he, too, is not far from his own release. His teeth nip at your lower lip as he half-begs into your mouth. “Please. Come again for me, sweet thing, little bird, pretty-- let me feel you--”
Your third orgasm crashes over you, your sex spasming around his cock, tight and hot and pulsing - and Jing Yuan groans into your mouth as you push him over the edge too, and you feel his cock spasm in turn. Ropes of hot release shoot inside of you; you had thought, earlier, that having his cock buried all the way inside of you was the extent of how full you could feel.
You were wrong.
You bite at his lips, whining and half-sobbing, as the please encompasses you like a cloak of warmth. Jing Yuan groans in return, his hips making needy fast circles to chase the dregs of his own release. It feels right, for the two of you to peak together like this. For the two of you to chase every last drop of pleasure, entwined together and sweating and kissing and as close to one being as it’s possible to be.
Eventually, your breathing slows. Eventually, the kiss turns tender instead of frenzied. Eventually, you pull back from Jing Yuan with a foolish smile on your face and your cheeks hot and tears of pleasure (that you hadn’t even realised you had cried) rolling down your face like sparkling diamonds.
You stare at each other, the enormity of what has happened washing over you. Jing Yuan’s face is calm and serene, but his eyes are bright still, his cheeks still high in colour.
You fear for a moment that he is about to dismiss you; that what the two of you just shared will mean nothing now that it is over. You fear that you’re about to go back to what you were before; a colleague and an employer, a General and a subordinate. But then, Jing Yuan lets out a deep rumbling sigh, pleased, as he collapses back upon the pillows. He opens his arms for you to dismount, his cock sliding slippery and wet outside of you, his come trickling down your thighs.
“Come here,” he murmurs, sounding tired but terribly pleased; the cat who has gotten the cream. He’s like a lion once more. You are helpless to resist his indication that he wants to cuddle, and so you let him pull you into his arms, let him manoeuvre you to lay against his chest until you can hear his heart beating. His fingers stroke your head, like you’re a sweet-tempered animal yourself. “Mmm. Rest with me, little bird.”
You let yourself. Your body is aching and sore from the orgasms and the sex, and you let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his breathing.
A sleepy kiss is dropped onto the crown of your head.
“Enjoy it whilst you can,” Jing Yuan hums. “Before we start having to make room for Mimi every night.”
Genshin Men With a Sweetheart Who is Stress-Eating
This one is kind of an intense topic, but I thought it would be a good comfort read for someone weathering this problem. You're not alone, you are completely normal, AND BEAUTIFUL! Our genshin boys are here to reassure you of that and give you all the love and support you deserve ♡
Diluc, Kaeya, Itto, Childe x gn!reader II comfort, romance
Content Warnings: Depictions of fear/anxiety/stress, descriptions of stress eating.
I am not a medical professional. Stress eating is not an eating disorder within itself, but can be a component of an eating disorder. It is not a healthy coping mechanism and can make stress worse as it generates feelings of guilt and shame. In this piece, I'm trying to remove the guilt and shame from the habit and bring comfort, not give official medical advice on ways to treat it. The alternatives I use are only tips I've researched in overcoming the compulsion. If you experience this habit, please tell a medical professional so that you can be given proper guidance on how to manage it!
♡sending love♡
Diluc would be concered at first. The first time he witnessed your habit, you were sitting at the bar during one of his busier shifts. You were agressively tapping your foot and your face was marred with a worried expression while bringing the cashews from the free bowl on the counter to your mouth in rapid succession. Something was clearly bothering you, but he was hesitant to pull the bowl away or interfere with your soothing by inserting himself. He wanted to let you know that he was there for you, that you could talk to him, that he would comfort you if you let him---but he wasn't sure it would help. So he discreetly watched you for the rest of the night (as he normally did, never able to take his eyes off of his beautiful partner), setting a bowl of clementines and a glass of water in front of you as well, touching the small of your back comfortingly as he did. You took your time peeling the clementines and finishing your glass of water, feeling better after slowing your actions down. He still gets worried about you when he sees you engaging in your habit, only because he wants to fix what is bothering you, though he knows it's not always within his power to do so. You were the most precious thing in his life—he would fight the entire world if it meant bringing you an ounce of solace. He knows the action soothes you, so he makes sure to put food that will support your body and make you feel good in front of you---a bowl of cherries or strawberries or grapes, pressing a sweet kiss to your head, your cheek, your mouth as he does. If you wanted a comfort food, that was an entirely different story--it would be in your hands immediately, but if just engaging in the action was soothing, the only way he knew to help would be to make sure you wouldn't get a stomachache and that your body felt its best.
Kaeya, like Diluc, would also be concerned. He would interfere, but not for any reason other than wanting to make sure you were ok. After he came home to you staring off into the distance with fear in your eyes as you shoved a spoon into a tray of apple pie over and over, he put his hand over yours, halting your action for a moment, asking, "is something the matter, love?". He wouldn't let you feel embarrassed ashamed for even a moment. He just wanted to understand what was compelling you to self-soothe this way. He would let you vent to him about whatever it was that was causing you such immense stress. If he could fix it, he would have you two come up with a plan of action to right it together. If you couldn't solve it that night, or it wasn't in his power to help you solve it, he would snuggle up next to you on the couch and ask for a spoonful himself. The compulsion just became dessert as you two shared it until you'd had enough. You enjoyed the treat together, because he would never let you sit with your troubles alone.
Itto would take a while to notice. He just thought you liked food as much as he did. He wasn't the most observant guy, so he wouldn't immediately clock the stress weighing on your features. He'd see you tucking into a big bowl of ramen noodles and he, the perpetually hungry oni he is, would only think to ask for a bite. Then another. Then another. Until you were both fighting to slurp down the soup. If he saw you compulsively eating, he'd just assume you were hungry and take you to get something better to eat or make you something better to eat himself. Have you ever tried this guy's yakisoba? Of course you have. It's delicious. After he caught on, he didn't stop his process of making/getting you food that would actually comfort and fill you instead of letting you eat whatever was in front of you. He discovered that, even though he didn't know it at the time, he was supporting you by having you in the kitchen with him or sitting beside him at a ramen stand whenever you were in these episodes of pain. That just being near you and diverting your attention to food you actually wanted was the best way he could support you. After you decided you were done with the Yakisoba, he'd hug you around the waist with one hand and pick your plate up with the other, kissing the top of your head and saying, "My pretty sweetheart with an oni's appetite. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect partner!".
Childe knew what stress-eating was before you showed signs of it...because he stress eats too. He noticed it in himself after he had joined the Fatui; the anxiety of his family's well being hanging in the balance, the grueling hours he had to put in, the insecurity and misdirected anger, all showed up in the need to consume. His heart ached when he noticed you doing it--he empathized with the pain in your chest and disruption in your stomach. He wasn't going to make you do anything you didn't want to do, but he would offer to take you on a run or ask you to spar with him when he noticed you engaging in the habit. What worked for him was to get his blood pumping and stimulate himself in a different activity, instead of sitting with the stress he needed to compulsively soothe. After he wore you out, he would give you a space to talk about whatever was going on that was causing you to engage while he held you close. He would assure you that you are loved, that many people, even him, developed this habit, you aren't alone in your plight, and that you had absolutely nothing you needed to be ashamed about. This was a normal compulsion you experienced in response to a situation where you were suffering. All he cared about was making sure the scource of the stress was disposed of, so you wouldn't be in pain any longer.
✧ SUMMARY: fluff, lots of domesticity, established relationship, clingy diluc, clingy reader, lots of clinginess overall, this is way too cheesy, an absurd amount of sweetness really, but anyways domestic mornings !!
✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: this is my entry for the summer santa event hosted by @solarisfortuneia and i got assigned to @pvbbyb0y !! i’m so sorry it’s late but i’m really hoping you enjoy this hehe :D i had a lot of fun writing it (diluc my beloved mwah)
despite wielding a pyro vision, diluc ragnvindr runs cold in the mornings.
you'll probably tell him he's absurd, clinging to him for warmth whenever you can, but he knows in his gut that it's true. he's usually warm, except for the early dawns, when he's roused from sleep and even the slightest shift of his skin against the sheets makes him shiver.
he used to hate the mornings for this exact reason. he hated being pulled from the comforting warmth of his dreams only to realize that there was nothing but cold and emptiness in the bed he slept in. he hated the feeling of ripping the sheets away from his body, hated the feeling of goosebumps rising over his flesh, hated the feeling of his bare feet touching the cold wood of the manor's floors. he hated it all.
he tells you as much one morning, when you're still hazy with sleep and slow to process his words.
"isn't it strange that those with pyro visions aren't always warm?" he asks quietly, voice thick with sleep as he speaks out into the silence. you attempt to crack an eye open, but the sunlight filtering in through the curtains makes you flinch, and you opt for burying your face into his arm instead.
when you answer, your voice is muffled against his skin. "what are you talking about?"
he sighs, quietly, so that he doesn't break the peace. he's been scared of doing that lately. "i'm always cold in the mornings..."
there's a silence that lingers in the air before you're snorting out a laugh, shaking your head. "no you aren't."
diluc sits up a little, so that his back can rest against one of the pillows. the sheets slide down his body a little, and he almost hisses as the cool air hits his skin. he eyes your disheveled hair, confusion evident in his tone. "yes i am." he replies simply.
you finally pick your head up to glare at him critically, unlatching yourself from his arm. "you're ridiculous, no you are not." you say, groggily adjusting yourself so that you can rest your face against his chest and drape your arm over his waist. "you run so warm all the time. it's the most pleasant thing ever."
he pauses, looking down at you with interest, his calloused palms coming up to thread through your hair like it's routine. "oh? what do you mean by that?"
"i mean," you stress with a sigh. "that you're so warm and so comfortable and it makes me feel clingy."
you say all of this with a grumpy pout, and diluc can already tell your only goal right now is to go back to sleep. the thought makes him bite back a grin, because it's almost funny how you can say these sweet things with such an exasperated expression. he doesn't really have an answer to give back, and instead he smiles to himself, fingers coming down to drift over the skin of your arm.
there's another comfortable silence between the two of you and diluc's thoughts travel through his head slowly, lazily.
"i hate the cold, you know?" he muses, gaze trained on the folds of his bedsheets with disinterest.
"is this another horribly concealed jab at captain kaeya?"
he laughs despite himself, shaking his head even though you can't see him with your eyes closed. "no, this isn't about kaeya. i just don't like how the cold makes me feel." he answers as his laughs die down, fingers still tracing patterns over your skin. "especially in the morning, when i have to get out of bed."
"why's that?"
he pauses, smiling to himself and leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. "because you're warm, and when i get out of bed i can't hold you, so it makes me cold."
a tired giggle escapes your lips, and you shake your head against his chest playfully. "i hope you know that was extremely cheesy, diluc."
he shrugs, choosing to keep the rest of his thoughts to himself. one day, he'll find a way to explain it to you properly. how cold he's gotten used to feeling in an empty bed and how he always believed that cold would remain with him, lonely and isolating and oh so frigid. he'll find a way to tell you that he now hates getting out of bed because he can't bring himself to let go of your addicting warmth, in all of its loving and welcoming glory. he'll somehow find a way to let you know that it's almost torture for him to rip himself away from your embrace every single day.
but for now, he'll keep those thoughts to himself.
he moves to get up, and immediately your eyes shoot open, grip tightening. he laughs quietly, as though this doesn't occur every morning. "you know i have to get up, my love."
"you don't." you say simply, tugging his hand ever so slightly. "you could just stay."
his shoulders drop, a helpless smile on his face as he reaches over to smooth down your hair.
“and who would take care of the manor?” he asks, tilting his head as a few strands of fiery red hair fall across his eyes.
"adelinde runs the place better than you do."
"oh, she does." diluc chuckles, pressing his lips to your temple. "but that doesn't mean i don't have to attend to my duties too."
the look you give him is criminally endearing, and his sigh comes out more indulgent than anything else, powerless in front of you. he moves to get back into bed, and you make yourself comfortable against him again.
he doesn't even have it in him to be angry, instead just letting his fingers stroke your hair and lull you back into that sweet sense of security you claim to feel in his arms.
and all diluc ragnvindr can do in that moment is smile to himself, feeling slightly helpless but oh so warm and fuzzy.
he waits until he's sure you've fallen asleep again to finally get up, the telltale sign of your breathing getting slower so familiar to him it makes his stomach flip. your words echo in his head, and a smile tugs at his lips as he forces himself to turn away from you and get himself ready for the day. truthfully, if you opened your eyes again and asked him to stay, he'd get back into bed with you in a heartbeat. because you look so warm all cuddled up in his sheets like that, lips parted and hair mussed like it's the most natural thing in the world.
and archons above he was starting to feel cold all over again.
you know how it's said that people in happy relationships gain weight? imagine noticing after a while that since you started dating your f/o got heavier, their tummy a little bigger, and they just seem so much more content :)
“your f/o would never judge you..” okay but what if they would. What if they did judge me and then approached me about it and we had healthy conversation about it and we both end it by saying how much we love each other and how glad we are that we communicated..
oh, my darling(s)♡ @imlovemyfaves - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
